#jame of knorth

[rattyjol]

I found a couple of old fics tonight and posted them on AO3 basically unedited:

Esk, Issa (Beginning, Movement): Imperial Radch, 800 words

My existence began in a single room. Or rather, this is where my memory record begins. My existence itself began in a laboratory some very many gates away, but this is only hardware. I, myself, did not begin until I was already in orbit, already set into place above the planet where I was destined to live and die.

The Merrikitt Hotel: Chronicles of the Kencyrath, mall AU, 1.2k

Jame stood in the empty hotel parking lot and tapped her chin. Up close, the Merrikitt Hotel was much nicer than she’d thought, dwarfed as it was by the Four Seasons’ veritable high rise next door. She contemplated the likely price for a room, weighed it against her unfortunately barren wallet, and then weighed it a second time against Rowan’s reaction if Jame came back from her lunch break still dripping mud all over The Knorth Face’s nice clean floors. Never mind that Jame thought it would lend a pleasing verisimilitude to an outdoor goods store; Rowan’s expressionless face could speak volumes when necessary. Right, showering at the Merrikitt it was.

[aeondeug]

well no actually it might be how the knorths handle their relationship with their father. they come to understand. to an extent jame can even pity him. but ganth is not forgiven. he is, at best, pitied. he is put out of his misery. and part of learning to understand and accept his existence as one thoroughly awful man who was fucked up by trauma, is being able to banish this idea of him as an invincible specter of evil and to be able to see the places where they are just like the man they fear.

[tanoraqui]

and if you want a happy ending...

A little while after that, on the outside edge of the world Rathilien at the last fading door between it and Elsewhere, two siblings and a cousin ran up, panting, and fell into fierce debate.

“It’s shut fast.”

“It’s locked?”

“Are really surprised?”

“No. Can’t you just break it? Or pick it?”

“I’m as spent as the two of you. And I don’t have my lock picks.”

“You still have claws.”

“They’re not as good as a proper set of picks! Anyway, I said it’s shut, not locked—I can’t pick a barred door.”

White-haired Preservation-who-wasn’t-anymore leaned past his bickering cousins to knock on the door.

“Hello?” he called. “May we come in? It’s getting rather unstable out here.”

Not-quite-Destruction-anymore and Creation-no-longer both looked nervously over their shoulders, at the reality that really wasn’t and at the increasingly small patch of doorstep on which they stood.

Jame entirely gave up the pretense of mythology, and started hammering on the door. “Ragga, Tishoo, Burnt Man, Eaten One!” she hollered. “We promise not to break anything this time, just let us in! Granny Sits-by-the-Fire! Gorgo, you owe me—and you too, Suwaeton, and all your Divine Order! Dalis-Sar, Heliot, Abarraden! Kroaky or whatever your name is, Lady Professionate, Lord Artifice, Lord Mercer! Pathfinder, please—ah!"

She yelped because she was suddenly falling, not backwards into void but forwards into the open door. Torisen caught her around the waist before she went flat on her face before the one who had opened it—who was, indeed, Pathfinder, the pale, bedraggled, eternally candlelit old man who was patron of the Tai-Tastigonian Guides' Guild and the latest manifestation of Hope.

"Unlike some of you, I cannot not answer," he was calling warmly over his shoulder, to an indistinct but bickering crowd of gods and god-adjacents. Though he didn't shift from where he stood, blocking most of the doorway.

"Well met," Torisen said politely, before his sister could consider slipping in like a stray cat. She elbowed him in the ribs as she wiggled out of his grasp, because she hadn't seriously been considering it. 

"May we come back in?" Torisen repeated, with some measure of a Highlord's dignity remaining. "We seek only to rejoin our people. If it is any concern, we've left all of our power behind, eons back."

Mother Ragga pushed her way in besides Pathfinder.

"Girlie's still got claws," she said, jutting her earth-ruddy head toward Jame. "And your foolish people will rush to give back all they can, the second they see you." Toward Kindrie, she added, "They're halfway to giving it to your lady as it is."

"Er," said Kindrie. A moment ago, he'd been anxious about the void of utter nothingness nipping at their heels. It wasn't much better to consider Kirien's likely reaction to being hassled by god-hungry priests. 

"Many people have claws," said Torisen, as he once might have said, Everyone has dreams, but better. Even after everything, Jame fought the urge to hug him with fierce pride and never let go—both could wait until later.

"We will take great care," she swore. "Honor break me, darkness try again to take me—c'mon Mother Ragga, you know we're good for it."

Torisen and Kindrie both echoed her oath.

Rathilien debated, as the Tyr-RIdan clustered ever more tightly together on the fading doorstep, last remnant of the parasitic shadows that the Kencyrath had fought for so long. A familiar, supportive quonk! quonk! rose above the tumult, finally cut through by Granny Sits-by-the-Fire's exasperated, "They've made a place for themselves here, same as the rest of us. Just let them in."

Pathfinder smiled broadly and stepped aside, swinging the door so swiftly wide that all three Knorths tripped over the threshhold—

—and through into the last particularly weak point in the walls between worlds, which just so happened to be the Great Hall of death banners—most faded or burnt, but a few souls still hung on—at the heart of the royal keep of Gothregor.

Sentences Saturday

@thelordofgifs tagged me to share "some sentences" from a WIP (side note: I love how far this has devolved from neat tag memes like "Five-Sentence Friday" or even "WIP Wednesday). As it so happens, I spent yesterday and today writing a short little thing for the Chronicles of the Kencyrath, so here it is in full! Tagging @finxwrites, @smallblueandloud and @words-writ-in-starlight to go next if you want :)

---

Smothering, twisting darkness swirled around them in a dancing duel with silver-pale weirding mist, and the mist was winning. Where it cleared away the taint and then itself, it revealed a silent battlefield—exhausted, watching the center where the Tyr-Ridan stood, the living all still alive for now and the dead all staying dead at last. Rathilien was saved. Perimal Darkling was destroyed.

Yet darkness still loomed in front of them, utter, absolute Darkness. Ahead and behind. The ground had stopped shaking—Mother Ragga stood watching with the rest, not far away. But something still shifted unsteadily beneath Jame’s feet. Some loose thread—loose steering rope, loose fate whipping in the winds of history—was left untied.

"We have to go back." Her lips were numb with the realization. "We have to go back and start it all."

Kindrie shouted, a wordless rathorn cry of grief beyond endurance. He turned away and strode to where Kirien stood, not far behind them (or maybe distance hadn't mattered in…about as long as time hadn’t mattered).

He took her in his arms and kissed her fiercely, then pressed their foreheads gently together. The serpent cloak on his shoulders wrapped around them both.

Jame looked away to give them their privacy.

The final battlefield was full of friends and loved ones, kith and kin, more alive than she would have expected. Timmon and Gorbel were leaning heavily on one another, as were Trishien and Dianthe of Danior, all surrounded by Kendar of a melange of houses. Randiroc’s jewel-jaws were feasting on his corpse, which was fair. A few steps away, Death’s-head had started eating the Dark Judge’s corpse, which would probably give him indigestion. Before Ashe had finally gone still with the rest of the haunts, she’d sat back to back with Harn, who was gritting his teeth over a mangled forearm while Sheth, kneeling beside them, tore and tied his black coat into a hasty tourniquet.

The Kencyr had gathered closest to their lords and lady, but they were far from alone on the field. Gran Cyd bent a bloody-speared Chingetai into a passionate kiss and showed no sign of stopping. Wolvers began to howl, a rippling harmony of triumph tinged with mourning. An assortment of Tai-tastigonian gods, Bashti ancestors and other deities still ran amok, mopping up shadows with spears, fire, frying pans and odder weapons, egged on by Old Man Tishoo soaring above. Through the howling chorus, Jame heard a distinct quonk! Further yet, Arribek sen Tenzi was already stalking around, rallying his hillmen for whatever came next.

He wasn’t the only one. Countless people looked back at Jame and in their eyes she could see that one word from her, the slightest nod, and despite their wounds, exhaustion, and dawning sense of relief, they would stand and follow unflinchingly into the darkness. Brier was already getting to her feet, with blood coating her side and a mulish set to her chin. Yce was glaring past Jame, past Tori, straight into the heart of Perimal Darkling, teeth bared and legs coiled to pounce on the enemy that still hadn’t fully vacated her territory.

Kindrie let go of Kirien at last, and she of him. As he walked back to his cousins, the serpentine Cloak pressed closer and closer to his skin until it sank in completely, leaving only a ghost of snakes’ heads at his shoulders. As it faded, Kindrie shone brighter and brighter, with a white light so pure that it burned Jame’s eyes.

She turned away, and dropped the ivory Knife from her right hand. It disappeared into the shadows curling around her feet and never landed; in its place her claws slid out, longer and sharper and more natural-feeling than ever before. Each would be deadly with only a scratch. 

As usual, Torisen was the last to join them. He hasn’t reacted at all to Jame’s words; his head was bowed over the Book still open in his hands, his shoulders hunched.

With a deep breath, he straightened. The Book flared and fell into ashes in his hands. The fire licked down the bonds that tied the Knorth to their lord, and the Kencyrath to their Highlord, and set them all loose before any could be drawn into the Darkness before the three of them. Pure Creation remained, unbound, and the Kenthiar on his neck blazed as brightly silver as his open eyes.

Jame snapped her few bonds with a flick of her wrist, as easy as breathing for Destruction incarnate. With her other hand, she turned her claws carefully away one last time as she took her brother’s scarred hand, and leaned her shoulder against his. Her odd, black-purple glow was dark against his silver, though still bright against the Darkness.

On her other side, Preservation gripped the loose sleeve of her d’hen, just in case the road was rough.

And so the three faces of the Kencyr god, Torrigien, Regonereth and Argentiel, walked out of Rathilien and into the Darkness beyond worlds, beyond time.

A little while later and thirty thousand years earlier, the Three-Faced god bound together the Kendar, the Arrin-ken, the in-between race that would be known as Highborn, and the short gray folk who had always called themselves Builders, and charged them to fight the purest malevolence of entropy until it was defeated—and then upon its defeat, to the stupefaction of many on a small, divinity-packed world far down the Chain of Creation, released them all at last.

[lyreofsheliak]

Kencyrath, paths not taken

Fandom: Chronicles of the Kencyrath

Characters: Jame of Knorth

Also on: Dreamwidth. 

Written for the prompt “making a different choice”. 

Gerridon is dead. Jame went to him, and as much as she wanted what he offered her, as weak as she had been, at the last moment she had defied him. A futile protest, he had thought. (She had almost agreed. But they had both been wrong.) She only scratched him (this time), but he is dead. The knife—the Ivory Knife—is cold in her hand, cold as ice, cold as death. She can hardly feel that hand; her knuckles are white around the hilt. Destruction. Regonereth. (Had she even meant—) When the apparition heals her, the blade clatters to the floor. Her mind is clear. She has been lucky; the shifters haven't found her. She wonders how many of them are even here. Keral is probably still lying with his golden-eyed shadows. Tirandys is— Tirandys has gone to kill Tori. Gerridon is dead, and either Tori will follow him or Tirandys will, unless she can find them first. Jame picks up her knife, clutches her cloak around her, and runs.

[incorrectkencyrath]

Jame: I could always rob a bank for you.

Tori: Rob a bank--why the hell would you want to do that?

Jame: I was just offering. Jeez.

[morven]

Jame, a Superhero

One useful angle to approach the Kencyrath novels from is as a superhero story in a high-fantasy setting. Pat Hodgell has talked about being a comics fan in her childhood and I think Jame shows that in many ways.

She is an amazingly physical heroine, whose exploits seem perfectly designed for the comics medium IMO. A lot of the plot tension comes from questions of the morality of using superhuman abilities, and that's an age-old comic book trope. Her powers are stupendous, equivalent to many superheroes at least. Given how much she avoids learning her limits, they're probably further out than she guesses, but she ranks at demigod level. And like a good superhero story, the plots show that powers don't fix the hard things.

So much high fantasy avoids power in the hands of the hero. That these don't is wonderful.

[akaanir-of-starfleet]

somewhere in the soulscape offscreen:shade: so...i don't know if you remember but i...definitely contributed to your childhood torment a few times...at LEAST passively...kindrie: don’t worry about it. welcome to the club [passes her a I Was Personally Victimized By Rawneth Randir AndAll I Got Was A Lousy T-Shirt shirt]kindrie: kirien suggested i make these. randiroc and tori have them too. i'll give jame hers laterfurther offscreen (across the river): holly; who definitely wanted to go when tori called that people should come help him clean up nowbut harn glared at him Really Expressively so only the proper knorth people went: so....do you think we can let Jame's cat out of hte closet yet? because the scratching and yowling finally stopped and that actually makes me /more/ nervous(apologies to holly for shuffling him to the tags in 2 separate scenes here; i love him but he just doesn't fit in the middle of the drama)(i'm sure he could if he needed to but lets be real he's happier this way)just barely offscreen: several dozen knorth kendar shifting from panic mode to ‘holy shit are they finally going to kiss’ mode (via @tanoraqui)

Prompt: Jame/Tori, someone in the scene is tied to a chair

send in a character/pairing and a prompt, and I’ll write a short fic!

“So,” Torisen said quietly, crouched before his sister. Jame was unconscious, blood running down her face and matting the unbound curls of her hair as it dried, making her sharp features and stark pallor ghoulish. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths beneath her shirt, but her jacket had been taken, her belt, every pocket emptied, even her hair taken down and picked through, and her hands and feet were bound to the heavy chair with wire.

Rawneth’s people, sent to catch themselves a Nemesis, had done their work well.

Torisen had been sternly informed, in no uncertain terms, that looking at her was all he was permitted–if he touched her, even to check her pulse, he would die, and so would she. There was a sword at the back of his neck, the point resting on the skin above his collar and ready to be shoved through flesh and bone if he tried to disobey.

Tori took a breath, and felt a twin heartbeat in his own chest. It was like Jame’s hands were curled around his shoulders, her cheek pressed to his, and her voice whispering in his ear.

“Brother,” she said, not gently. “Get up and walk.”

Then he rose, slowly, smoothly, hands up to show that he meant no harm, to his feet, and turned to the Randir Matriarch.

“So,” he repeated, the world around him retreating slowly to the calm beat of his blood in his veins, and the taste of Jame’s blood in the air. Underfoot, far below, he could feel the Priest’s College, that whirlpool being drawn in, and in, and in.

And all around him, as far as he could feel, was life.

“My lady Rawneth,” Torisen said, as the calm ebbed away and power began to rush into the void. “Do tell me how you hoped that this negotiation would go.”

[elucubrare]

ok, so i have had a very poor Year In Book Writing, but i really really enjoyed P.C. Hodgell's The Gates of Tagmeth, and this is not exactly a book rec post because it's book eight in a series that is moving so glacially that it makes Yu-Gi-Oh look tightly plotted and brisk (about half of book 5[?] is dedicated to a very high-stakes and deadly game of capture the flag)  and also the main character is godawfully OP (i love her to death but if anyone cared enough to argue that she wasn't OP i would fight them, over the course of the series she's owned about 5 cosmically important Items, tamed an "untamable" uh, um, you see, carnivorous spiky-armored unicorn which she rides, and been named the Chosen of an earth-goddess, plus she has a Destiny, which is to either save or destroy the world b/c she is a Nemesis, which is exactly as melodramatic as it sounds, and also probably some more stuff i'm forgetting, like, oh, right, her magic snow leopard friend) and i have lost control of this post, but the point of the screenshot was that my book writing is best when I actually cared about the book and am basically writing in-world, and the other point of this post is fuck the Caineron.  

[justawanderingbabbit]

@xcziel tagged me for the 10 characters, 10 fandoms, 10 tags post a bit back and I'm finally getting to it after a long weekend at DCI. Go Phantom Raiders! WOOOT!

Putting my tags up front because I had to put a cut in: @clockworkspider, @ohyka, @nightxshade, @hamliet, @toastinette, @mercyandmagic, @r95irth, @foxofninetales, @hawberries, @foxghost

*ahem* Anyway.... (This gets long because I ramble)

The Rover, Duel of the Iron Fist, played by David Chiang: This was the character and actor who dragged me into martial arts movie fandom. Seriously old school for you young whippersnappers but dang he proved I have a type.

Jareth, Labyrinth, played by David Bowie: I was a fan of Bowie's from the first moment I saw him in "Man who Fell to Earth". Yet again, my type.

Zorro, Mark of Zorro, played by Frank Langella: The made-for-TV movie had its flaws but Frank Langella played one of my favorite character types (crouching moron, hidden badass) beautifully. One of the few left-handed Zorros out there, btw.

Vampire Hunter D, eponymous title, voiced by Kaneto Shiozawa: The art for the original movie is dated but the voice acting was gorgeous. Kaneto Shiozawa (RIP) was one of my absolute favorite voice actors.

Homunculus, Shadow of Destiny, voiced by Charles Martinet: The genie, demon, Gods know what, manipulator behind the scenes of the game. The story never did have a satisfactory ending for me, mostly because this character's entire existence was intended to 'fix' what went wrong in a family's timeline, with little consideration for what his existence meant. Oh, and btw, his voice actor was Mario's voice actor, which just proves the man has range and talent.

Janus, Chrono Trigger (maybe Cross as well, sort of?), no voice actor that I know of: The sorcerer who helps the yokai types invade Chrono's homeland. He has reasons, though, and you can get him on your team later on. Tall, skinny, has albinism(?) and might just be the son of Lavos. Should have shown up officially in Chrono Cross or been given a role in the never produced Chrono Break.

Janus Cascade, Wild Arms 3, no voice actor in the English language version: The primary enemy of the first arc of the game, he mostly is in it to stay alive despite his bosses' worst efforts. He shows signs of liking Virginia, though that never went anywhere, drat it.

Yu Hua, Mr. Melancholy Wants to Live a Peaceful Life, novel: One of the main characters in the story, he's a former transmigrator who'd 'won' the game and taken being able to live happily and comfortably on a world where there aren't supposed to be other transmigrators. Except, of course, things start going wrong when his old 'employer' (enslaver?) starts sending more transmigrators to his world to cause trouble.

Xue Xian, Copper Coins, novel: A dragon crippled by an attack by some strange force, Xue Xian makes contact with a monk called Xuan Min and becomes embroiled in case after case of misused and abused power, all of which leads up to revealing their connection and the secret behind Xue Xian's crippling.

Jame Priest's Bane of the Knorth, Kencyrath series, novels: A member of a race called the Kencyr, Jame starts off as a lost wanderer who falls into trouble (often literally) everywhere she goes. As the series progresses we learn she's the twin sister of her people's High Lord, the daughter of a traitor who reaped souls and lost her own, and possibly one of the three aspects of her peoples' tri-part God. (Destruction, naturally) While she wants to do right and less harm, her nature means that those who act for the sake of their own wealth and power often fall into disaster in their attempt to block her.

[smallblueandloud]

kendar gorgeous

the original concept of this is from @words-writ-in-starlight, the bastion of kencyrath-related content on the internet. everyone say “thank you, star!”

-

Tori: I was like 12 years old and my dad walked up to me and he said, “Hello… [chuckles] Hello, I’m Ganth Gray Lord. I’m your father.” And then he said the following, “You know, Tyrandis… was one of the great Knorth and masters of the Senethar, but sometimes he would be Shanir. And according to a song I heard once, when he was holding back the Shanir part, he did some of his best work.

Now we don’t have time to unpack all of that. And I don’t know if he was discouraging me from being Shanir or encouraging me to betray my people because of rigid concepts of honor, y'know, the way he did. But that is how he thought to phrase it to a 12-year-old boy. How would that ever work? Like years later, I’d be the Highlord about to follow my sister, the nemesis, into battle and I’d be like, “Wait a second… What would Tyrandis do?” Which of course would be to follow Jame into battle. I never talked to my dad about that after this, but I figured I would tell all of you.

-

Tori: I never went to Tentir. I got all of my training from this randir, his name was Harn Grip-Hard. Go ahead and laugh. His name is ridiculous. That was his name. It was Harn Grip-Hard. He was from Tentir. He was a beserker. [audience is silent] Oh, gee, very sorry everyone, did that make you uncomfortable? Well guess what! You're all randir and he's not even HERE! So imagine being TWENTY THREE YEARS OLD, fresh out of the Haunted Lands, COMPLETELY untrained and you're sitting in a small enclosed space with him. He's still got blood on his ears. And he's looking you in the eye to tell you for the first time in your VERY young life that SOME people REALLY HATE YOUR HOUSE. And they may just have to kill you over it!

So Harn came every night with a program to teach me about the violent world waiting for me outside my bunk in the Southern Wastes, and that program was called Street Smarts! “Time for Street Smarts with Harn Grip-Hard. Shut up! You’re gonna die. Street Smarts!” That was the general tone. He would give me tips to deal with infighting between the houses.

I will share some of the tips with you this evening. “Okay, tip number one. Street Smarts! Let’s say a Randir pulls a knife on you to try and get the Highlord's seat.” You remember the scourge of muggings when you were in the Southern Host. You know how a Kendar thinks. “Man, I want to be Highlord, the traditionally Knorth seat. Hey, maybe that random Ardeth bastard with the extreme PSTD, y'know, shivering like a wet Chihuawawa will be able to help.” "Let’s say a Randir Kendar pulls a knife on you to steal the Highlord's seat. What do you do? You go fumbling for your father's ring. And you go fumbling for your father's ring. Well, in that split-second, that’s when he’s going to stab you. So here’s what you do. You kid get yourself an Ardeth crest on your jacket. Okay, you can get these at any haberdashery. You put a bright silver Ardeth crest and then when a guy flashes a blade, you point and go, ‘I think I saw a Knorth go that way!’ Then you run the other direction.”

“Tip number two. Street Smarts! Let’s say a kidnapper throws you in their base on a volcano…” This was at nine in the evening. [audience laughing] “Let’s say a Karnid throws you in their base. Don’t panic. [chuckles] Once you get your bearings… find the fabric that contains reality, get some slack in your chains, make a fist, punch through the fabric, thus creating a hole in reality leading to our ancestral enemy Perimial Darkling, then stick your little hand out and wave to your darkling sister training in the eaves of the Master's house to let her know that something HINKY is going on.” Can you imagine seeing that? [imitating the Senetha, pauses] “I think Tori's telling me I'm supposed to be on Water Blowing by now!” [audience laughing]

“Tip number three. Street Smarts! You Knorth have no upper body strength.” And we were like, “We know but, hey.” “If some guy tries to grab you, you can’t fight him with fists. So here’s what you do. You kids run into the nearest building, then go all the way up the stairs and jump down at him from the upper-level window. That’ll throw him off his rhythm.” That was a big thing with Harn, throwing potential assassins off their rhythm. “He’s not gonna know how to fight back with a feral creature of legend coming down at him.” [audience laughing] “If the Knorth women had an accessible flight of stairs and a fascination with the clouds, they’d still be alive today. Street Smarts!”

-

Tori: Harn told me things that haunt me to this day. He came one night for training. He goes, “Okay, when you get kidnapped…” Not if, when. [audience laughing] "Okay, so when you get kidnapped, the place where the guy grabs ya, in the biz we call that the primary location. Okay. Your odds of coming back alive from the primary location, about 60%. But if you are taken to a secondary location, your odds of coming back alive are slim to none.”

I am 35 years old and I am still terrified of secondary locations. If I’m at a place, I never want to go to another place. I’ll be at a council at Gogrethor and someone’ll be like, “Hey, Highlord, you coming to the barracks? We’re all gonna get drinks and keep the party going with the Kendar!” I’m like, “Nah, sister. You’re not getting me to no secondary location. You want it? Look at my Ardeth crest!” Street Smarts! Stay alert out there.

Between Harn and my father’s warnings about the Shanir, I thought I was going to be murdered my entire childhood and young adulthood. As Highlord people are like, “What are your top three plans for the Kencyrath?” I'm like, “Top three plans? I thought I would be dead in a Karnid base or murdered by my darkling sister by now!”

-

Tori: I restored Gogrethor. The whole thing! Holy shit, right? I just got a letter from the Women's World, which was fun ’cause mail, you know? So I open up the letter and they said, “Hey, Torisen, it’s the Matriarchs. You remember?” I say, “Yes, of course.” And they said… How did they phrase it? They said, “Give us a child!”

-

Jame: I found out recently that jokes don’t do well in court. So, some friends of mine were sued back in Tai-Tastigon for property damage. And they were guilty. And the lawsuit dragged on for years and years and eventually I got a letter when I was lordan of the Knorth. It was my friend from Tai-Tastigon, Darinby. He said, “Hey, that lawsuit with my neighbor is still dragging on and my neighbor just subpoenaed all my letters that mention him or the lawsuit.” And I said, “That’s crazy. But why are you calling me?” And he said, “Because you should be concerned.”

"He said, “I have an letter here from when we were apprentices where I wrote, ‘Hey, guys, I’m going to miss drinks at the Moon tonight because I have to meet with my neighbor about that lawsuit thing.’ And you replied, ‘Hey, do you want me to kill that guy for you? Because it sounds like he sucks and I will totally kill that guy for you. Okay. See you at the temple of the Three-Faced God.'”

[audience laughing]

Of all the things I did in Tai-Tastigon I would be ashamed to have mentioned out loud in a court of law, I think the top one is “See you at the temple of the Three-Faced God.” I'm goddamn religious and everything, but that rat bastard doesn't need to be reminded that people worship him.

-

Tori: Jame would go like this. [glares intensely] And Caldane would just do whatever she said! Now that’s not nice, right? The way I was raised, you’re supposed to say, “May I please have some respect, please?” And then maybe you will get some. And I bet all of you were taught to say please and thank you. But if all of us could go "Boo!" and Caldane would float up to the ceiling, we’d do it all day long. Even if you're not even mad at Caldane, you’d just do it so you could get some shade in the afternoons.

[thepodcastboundinpaleleather]

i forgot to mention in my long chaos email that i love that jame does a double backflip seemingly out of sheer hypeness. which further adds to my theory that she is actually just some sort of catgirl elf. because she is both the most graceful thing in existence and the clumsiest and is like WHOO TIME TO DO SICK STUNTS FOR NO REASON at times.

Jame is the wildly OP eccentric superhuman main character that I love in all variants, and I hope Ms Hodgell has exactly no regrets.  Also, by including Torisen who is exactly the same despite his best efforts (”better climb out this window so as not to get cornered by that matriarch” says Lord Knorth/Jame, and does), although often less directly effective because he tries so hard to keep his Force Of Nature traits in check, it’s extremely hard to justify any sexist bullshit in Jame’s direction.  

You don’t like that she’s can make friends with any animal that stands still long enough/tries to kill her hard enough?  How’s that darkling wyrm that Tori bloodbound treating you?

You don’t like that she has a magical horse that can talk to her?  Tori intentionally traded down from that exact problem because having a horse talk back to him seemed like too much to deal with.

You don’t like her unnatural gift for blundering straight into the most dire trouble available?  That’s literally Tori’s intro scene.

The Knorth twins are every pretentious writing teacher’s worst nightmare of the Extra Special Powerful Main Character, executed like a goddamn literary masterclass, and they heavily shaped the way I view most OP characters--namely, if your solution to “this is a very powerful character” is to depower the character, you are a coward and a slacker.

[anheliaaescar]

Kencyrath first lines

God Stalk: THE HILLS ROLLED up to the moon on slopes of wind-bent grass, crested, swept down into tangled brier shadows.

Dark of the Moon: TAI-TASTIGON BURNED.

Seeker’s Mask:  "The first duty of a Highborn lady is obedience."

To Ride a Rathorn: The sun's descending rim touched the white peaks of the Snowthorns, kindling veins of fire down their shadowy slopes where traces of weirding lingered.

Bound in Blood: Three days out from Tentir, the randon college, they found the first body.

Honor’s Paradox: “Gerridon Highlord, Master of Knorth, a proud man was he. The Three People held he in his hand—Arrin-ken, Highborn, and Kendar—by right of birth and might.”

The Sea of Time: “JAMETHIEL PRIEST’S-BANE.”

The Gates of Tagmeth:  JAME PAUSED IN THE DOORWAY of her brother’s tower study, blinking into the gloom.

[aeondeug]

if the kencyrath characters were yokai and such what would they all be. important questions.

[tanoraqui]

📓

Kencyrath fics from Discord which I should write, kind of but not really in order from most to least likely to happen:

more of the River City superhero au!! I have GOTTA write the last leg of the Knorth twins identity nonsense quadrangle, and the whole Nightmare War epic crossover event, and Honor Guard: Origins fic for Brier (Iron Thorn) and Medic (Kindrie, though really the fic would be about Tieri), and When Blackbird Came Out To His Team About Being A Knorth (and either Harn or Rowan promptly paid the other $20 because they'd had a bet going about when he'd 'fess up). And!! the fic about Ashe (Singer) going about her day, stopping crime and trying to write a good epic poem about her own death, struggling around the geas laid on her not to speak of how she was resurrected, all expressed in image descriptions of someone's favorite pages of the imaginary comic book...

I know the Beauty and the Beast au is more yours to write but god I love the Beauty and the Beast AU. The Kindrie of it all. The misunderstanding wherein he thinks she's Jamethiel Dream-weaver herself. Iconic.

fic in which Jame and Tori are both de-aged due to ?? and the Knorth Kendar abruptly have to manage 2, maybe 3 7-year-old Tyr-ridan, without letting anyone else know that this has happened. Chaos and maybe family bonding ensues.

The vampire au! Maybe just more Tori/Grimly pre-"canon" college shenanigans; listen I just think maybe they should have a nice time briefly. Also, Yce's "horse in a hospital" energy when she shows up is so good. Also, I love how Rue joins the cast?

semi-epistolary fic about 2 grad students in the basement of Mount Alban building a red string conspiracy board about the suspected Knorth Tyr-ridan

I have no particular plot bunnies for the Grimm AU but I wanna shoutout to the Grimm AU for being superb.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

Anyway Lotus Eater prison AUs, where a character is trapped in a dream of their heart's desire, are my favorite shit, and I like to come up with them for any story that might conceivably enable that sort of magical prison (extra bonus points for Love Interest/Beloved Relative/Friend going in to get Main Character out) and

I don't know what I'm going to do with it yet, but:

“Tori!”  Jame had never seen the great hall of Gothregor so crowded, so bright--every table was full and well-set, and hands clapped her on the back as she tried to slip through the people.  Kendar, all, or so nearly that it was impossible to see any slight, short Highborn between them.  Some strangers, most known to her.  All wore the Knorth crest, but some--that could only be Tig, who had eaten his own toes in search of meat in the Haunted Lands, and that, there, Lon, who she had seen burned before her exile, and these, in their Southern Host’s uniforms, she had seen falling in the vanguard at Urakarn.  

All were hale and healthy, their scars well-healed, well-fed and clothes in good repair.  They didn’t seem to know Jame, but they welcomed her with voices raised and a cup of mulled wine pressed into her gloved hand, as if this were a place where strangers could be assured of a good meal and a safe rest.

“Please,” Jame said, pressing the wine back into the hands of a woman she recognized as Rue’s cousin, older and often featured in Rue’s more obscure stories of childhood troublemaking.  “I need to see the Highlord.”

“Sure,” the woman said, gesturing easily toward the front of the hall, where a fire roared cheerfully in the great fireplace, casting warm golden light over the stones.  “But eat!  Drink!  We have enough to spare, my friend, and you look hungry!”

Jame was quite sure she did look hungry, even this dream-image of herself in her ivory-white lordan’s coat.  Losing half one’s soul into a prison of his own dreams did have an effect on one’s appetite, and she had felt stretched strangely thin, as if someone--or something--had been draining her strength, ever since Tori fell to the assassin’s poison.  Not enough to kill a Highborn Shanir, one of the Tyr-ridan, but enough to drag him into the dreamscape, enough to imprison him in the poison’s honeyed grip where its victim would normally have died in peace.

Not her brother.  Tori was too strong.  Jame would not allow it.

“I’m sorry, Maranth,” Jame said, mustering her best attempt at a smile.  “But I really do need to see the Highlord.  I’ll eat after I speak with him.”

“Sit with us,” Maranth said, offering the wine again.  “We have space--”

Jame gave up--Maranth was only an imagined version of herself, at most a shadow of a dream, and would not be reasoned with.  She dodged around the woman and wove through the crowd.  As she drew closer to the head table, the faces grew more familiar.  Winter, with her steel-shot hair loose around her shoulders as she chuckled.  Rose Ironthorn with her daughter, Brier copper-dark where her mother was fair and windburned, but unmistakable in their resemblance.  As Jame forced her way through the thickening crowd to the farthest end of the high table, she saw Marc, sitting beside Rowan and her husband, cheerfully directing servers bearing dishes that Jame knew he must have designed himself.  Rowan was smiling, really smiling, as if the scarring to her face had never touched the nerves.  Mullen, unmarked by his suicide, and even Kindrie, in Jaran robes stitched with the Knorth crest, shy but gamely upholding a conversation with the Knorth Kendar.

But then, where was Burr?  He must be here, he was her brother’s dearest friend, his most trusted servant.  And Rue, she had seen Brier, her own right hand, but not Rue, who her brother knew well enough to dream up her family.  

A bright, ringing laugh drew Jame’s attention, the packed hall turning toward the sound like flowers to sunlight.  It was familiar, a woman’s voice, rich and husky, pleasant to the ear--

“Mother?” Jame asked, bemused, and fought her way past the last of the servers, to find the high-backed chairs in the center of the table, before the fire.  The woman laughing sat in one, her head thrown back to bare her throat, black hair loose over the shoulders of a dress coat in black and silver, with a stylized rathorn crest stitched in magnificent detail, sprawling across the left breast and shoulder like a living thing.  For a moment, at a loss, Jame didn’t know her.

And then the laughing woman lowered her head, and turned a crooked smile on Tori, Tori who looked at her with warmth in his shining silver eyes, Tori who wore a plainer but undeniably matched dress coat, Tori who took her ungloved hand in his scarred one and raised it to his lips with a smile of his own.

He was beautiful, smiling.

Burr was smiling at his lord’s elbow as he caught Rowan’s eye over the heads of the servers, and Rue snatched the black kidskin gloves from under her lady’s elbow before they could be crushed under a new dish, and Jame fought for breath around the choking lump rising in her throat.  This--she could not bear this.  Even if her brother’s dream had been a red-ribboned bed, or her absence, she thought she might have borne it, but this?

A hall, full of good food and warmth, enough to share?  A people who didn’t fear their lord’s absence or madness, who welcomed strangers without worrying over their place?  A Kencyrath where a wanderer wasn’t a threat, and twin chairs, and Jame herself in pride of place?  Her fingers in her brother’s hand, and a hall full of people who smiled when she laughed, Tori who smiled when she laughed--

She wanted to walk to the high-backed chair, and take her dream-self’s place, and wear the Knorth crest as Tori watched her with that weight of attention, as if she was the only thing he wanted to look at, as if she were what made this perfection a paradise.

Jame took a slow, shaking breath, and forced her hands out of their fists, sheathed her claws before they could pierce the skin of her palms, and squared her shoulders under the ivory embroidery of her coat.  It was only a few steps to reach Tori, to rest a hand on the table and watch him see her.

His smile flickered and faded, and he was himself again, serious, eyes sharp and wary, unsure.  Jame tried not to let it sting.

“Tori,” Jame said.  "Do you know who I am?”

[lyreofsheliak]

Some of my Chronicles of the Kencyrath icons, 100x100 pixels. When I tried uploading them as individual images, Tumblr stretched them out terribly, so they’re concatenated together here. 

If anyone in the fandom wants an icon of a different cover or in a different size, let me know? I can always do a few more. 

Individual icons + artists’ names are here at my Dreamwidth.